Your dialogue is now becoming easier for me to read. It just shows it takes
practice. I remember my Betty Joe of the crazed face and the hard arms and
soft body. She was most prized, best loved. A landlord wound up with her I
think when Dad took off, and we couldn't pay the rent. I wrote a poem about
all those later dolls, too, once. One stolen from a wrecked car, one left to
melt in the rain. Ah what sad endings, and I love them today. I very much
enjoyed this poem. I am glad to see you writing more of them.
|